


Do Androids Dream of Spice Girls Karaoke?

by JasonVoorhees



Series: Karaoke Night [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Eric being an angsty robot, Existential Crisis, Gen, Self-Doubt, can be read as Tony/Eric if you wish, father/daughter karaoke, supportive Tony & Jeanne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 17:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasonVoorhees/pseuds/JasonVoorhees
Summary: Tony and Jeanne are hanging out for a father/daughter karaoke night. Eric tries not to ruin it with his existential crisis.





	Do Androids Dream of Spice Girls Karaoke?

The bar isn’t very busy tonight, which is a good thing, because Eric is not in a very good mood. He’d really rather just go home and lay around—_not sleep, because you can’t really sleep anymore, Eric_—but he promised Tony that he’d go with him. This was his idea, after all.

There are a few other criminals hanging out here, some in costume, some not. He and Tony always wear theirs out and about, for different reasons (Tony just likes to show his off and intimidate people. Eric likes having a fast escape option, and shrinking real fast is good for running away. Also it covers his face.)

Sitting at the bar is a short-haired young woman in a black-and-white jumpsuit and a domino mask. Eric can’t remember if she’s old enough to drink, but if she is it’s just barely. This is Tony’s daughter, Jeanne Foucault. Tony’s trying to reconnect with her, as it was.

See, Tony’s memory problems meant he sometimes forgot things. Important things, like the fact that he even had a daughter. They were working to fix that a few ways. One, Tony now has several pictures of the girl in his phone (captioned “the kiddo”). Two, Eric is supposed to remind Tony every once in a while. And three—Eric’s idea—regular Father/Daughter Karaoke Nights. If they see each other every month it ought to help, right?

And it does. Jeanne sees them and waves. They walk over and greet her. She addresses him as Taskmaster, which usually Eric thinks is hilarious (although honestly, somebody calling Tony “Dad” or “Father” would just sound bizarre). He can’t muster up a laugh tonight, so he just fakes a smile. He doesn’t want to think about what sort of awful father _he_ would have been—_except that wasn’t you_—but his mind is wandering there. Memories that don’t really belong to him. His life that’s not really his.

Tony’s laughing now, and Jeanne looks mildly confused. Eric completely missed whatever was said. He knows that Tony’s kid has trouble with social cues. Eric thought she was just plain mean, although that was really his fault for hitting on her the first time they met. Or rather, the first time Eric O’Grady met her, because that’s one thing he’ll gladly leave to his previous self. Tony actually smacked him upside the head for that one.

In any case, Tony had told him she was autistic, and that if Eric made any wisecracks about it he’d break his kneecaps. _Not that it’d do anything, would it?_ Now Tony’s explaining something to her, Eric’s missed that too, and they’re heading over to one of the karaoke tables.

Eric decides to get a drink, even though he doesn’t really want one. He can’t get buzzed. He can’t get drunk. It’s a weird feeling, and sometimes, he tries to pretend that he just got superpowers or something. Enhanced strength. Enhanced speed. Enhanced stamina. Plenty of real, flesh-and-blood humans have those traits. Sometimes it’s comforting. Tonight it’s not.

He makes his way to the table. Tony and Jeanne are singing a Spice Girls song, no surprise there. It’ll change in a minute when Jeanne gets to choose. Eric sits heavily on the lounger, sets his drink on the table, and leaves it there. He’d have to open up his mask to drink, and he _really _doesn’t feel like showing off the exposed metal and joints on the one side of his face. They’re still looking for someone who might be able to cover it up properly. He just doesn’t trust a whole lot of the mad scientists running around.

Jeanne picks a P!nk song, and Eric is suddenly reminded of a girl he’d slept with twice that he swore looked just like the singer. Except he never slept with her. It wasn’t him. He has all of the real Eric O’Grady’s memories, and heaven knows he’s just as much of a jackass as the real one was—for all intents and purposes, they are the same person. But he never lived any of that. It’s disconcerting.

Some people consider him to be the same person. As if his entire consciousness was transferred to this body and not just copied like so much data. But he knows he’s not.

He hates this. Why won’t these thoughts leave him alone? He’s supposed to be spending the evening with his best friend and his best friend’s kid, having fun. That, of course, sends his mind spiraling back to when he first met Tony at Camp Hammond—_but you didn’t, really_. Damn it. Eric lets his eyes wander around the bar, trying to distract himself, stop himself from thinking too hard.

He sees some jerk sitting at a table, wearing the most obnoxiously large shoes Eric has ever seen. He idly thinks about chopping the guy’s feet off. That would be a lot of blood. Oh yeah, that’s the one thing he has that he didn’t before—_because you didn’t exist before._ Urges to maim and murder. Some of which, he tells himself, are from anger and determination not to feel his head getting fucking crushed in again and remembering every excruciating second. Would the real Eric be like this if he survived? Probably, right? Because he would have the exact same memories.

No. He watches the woman that’s sitting with the guy. She’s basically been poured into her dress, and the old—the _real _Eric would probably have been conjuring up fantasies already, but that’s something else that’s missing. It’s not the memories. He has plenty, plenty of memories of being pushy and manipulative and saying just about anything to get someone in bed with him. That’s gone. Oh, he still finds people attractive, and he’s even managed to go on a couple of dates. Most of them didn’t work out when they realized he was a robot. Being up front about it didn’t help—that just attracted the ones who wanted to hook up with an LMD. He did try, having the memory of enjoying that sort of thing, but all the physical encounters ended in disappointment. All he can muster up now is vague disinterest.

So in essence, lucky him, he got an overactive sex drive replaced with homicidal tendencies. Although he _is _doing a pretty good job reigning those in, if he does say so himself.

“Thinkin’ real hard about somethin’, huh?” Tony plops down on the couch next to him, startling him back to the present. Jeanne is standing by the table, drinking from a glass and watching him with an arched brow. She hasn’t warmed up to him that much yet. It doesn’t matter.

“Maybe,” says Eric.

Tony examines Eric’s face and looks pensive for a second—how he can do that with a skull mask on is eternally a mystery—then he grabs Eric’s wrist and drags him up off the lounger. “C’mon, let’s sing.”

They butcher some Celine Dion songs for the next twenty minutes. Jeanne watches and makes sure to tell them how badly they’re doing.

It’s fun, for a little while, but the nagging voice in his head comes back to bother him when Tony asks him if he’s going to finish his drink.

“No,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate. He’s not even sure what he ordered. Something strong and fruity that came with a little umbrella, so Tony will undoubtedly drink it for him.

Tony does. Then he and his kid go up and sing some more while Eric wallows in his own mind. He wishes he could sleep. He can power down, and reboot, yes. But he can’t sleep. He can’t dream, although he has memories of dreaming. He kicks absently at the table leg, thinking about the dreams he remembers.

He kicks it a little too hard and it cracks. Sometimes his old memories overshadow the new ones and he forgets that he’s a lot more durable now.

Tony and Jeanne have stopped singing and come back over.

“Broke the table?” Tony asks, peering down at the leg. Eric shrugs. “Well, I ain’t paying for it. Let’s scram before they notice.” He shoos Eric and Jeanne towards the exit.

Great. He’s ruining the evening, as usual. What thing to be comforted by—he’s a terrible person, but at least, he’s always been a terrible person. Eric O’Grady was a dirtbag, and Eric O’Grady the Life Model Decoy is a dirtbag, has been ever since he was activated.

It’s colder outside now. Not uncomfortably so, since all of their costumes are made with expensive, advanced, temperature regulating materials. However, Eric can feel discomfort, and he can feel pain. What kind of idiot builds a robot that can feel those things? Yet he relishes it. Maybe that’s why.

Tony’s in his face suddenly and he jerks backwards a step. “What’s got you so spaced out today?”

“Nothing,” Eric lies.

“Nice try, O’Grady. I know ya better than that.” Tony taps the top of Eric’s head. “C’mon, what’s goin’ on in that brain of yours? I can hear it whirring.”

Eric stiffens. Jeanne is watching the exchange silently, and maybe Tony realizes what the problem is. His hand falls to Eric’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m just kiddin’.”

Eric shrugs the hand off. “You’re not wrong.”

“I can’t hear any whirring,” Jeanne says. “I don’t think you’re damaged, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Oh no, the android’s working just fine,” Eric says coldly. “All systems in great condition here.”

Tony looks taken aback. Jeanne says, “Well, that’s good.” Eric should probably shut up. This isn’t their problem. Maybe he should see a therapist. He wonders if Terry Ward is still counseling superhumans. _“Hi Terry, remember Eric O’Grady? I’m his evil robot clone. Can I make an appointment?”_ Couldn’t be the weirdest patient he’d ever see, surely.

He doesn’t want to talk to a therapist, though. He thinks he wants to talk to his friend. Maybe not a good idea, because it might just get him dropped like a hot potato. Who wants baggage, right?

Tony prods again. “Eric, come on, you’ve been all outta sorts all night.”

Whatever. “I’m just—do you think that I’m Eric O’Grady?”

Tony makes a face (still with the mask. How.) “Uh, yeah?”

Different approach, then. “Okay, how long have you known me?”

“That’s a good question,” Tony says, and thinks about it. “I guess there’s two answers, seein’ as you’re technically a different guy.”

“Am I?” Eric says. “Am I a person at all? I remember all of Eric’s life, but I didn’t live it.” A pause. “Eric O’Grady was a human. I’m not.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say, Eric can tell. But this is when Jeanne pipes up. “You aren’t human,” She agrees (gee, thanks). “But LMDs have sentience. Self-awareness. So you _are _a person.”

A memory surfaces then, not one of the real Eric’s but his own, something he said to Thompson. _“I may have a digital consciousness, but I am alive. And you are no murderer.”_ That was, of course, because Thompson had a gun to his head at the time.

“I am alive,” Eric says slowly, maybe trying to convince himself.

“Yes,” Jeanne says. “If you were not, I doubt you’d spend this much time agonizing over it.”

Tony nods. “Ah, smart kid.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Eric says. No one says anything else for a minute.

“Okay, what else?” Tony says, which Eric wasn’t really expecting. How could he tell there was more to it, anyway? Then again, Tony’s observant if nothing else.

“I don’t know,” Eric says. He kind of doesn’t want to go on with this conversation. But Tony and Jeanne are listening very raptly and it’s too late to run away. “It’s… stupid. I don’t feel like a real person because the memories I have are someone else’s. So I’m not sure who I am. I guess.” He feels dumb now, saying it out loud.

“Hmm,” Tony says. “Well, you’re, uh,” he makes a little _hmph_ noise, “a good friend of mine. Whether or not you’re the same Eric doesn’t make a difference, he was my pal too. So…” Tony frowns, and gestures, seeming not to find the right words.

“According to Taskmaster, you are his best friend,” Jeanne supplies helpfully. “As in, he seems to value your life above the lives of most of his human acquaintances.” Oh. That’s… that actually makes Eric feel a _lot _better.

“There ya go!” Tony claps his hand down on his daughter’s shoulder. Unlike the first few times he’d tried it, she doesn’t dodge. “You’re real articulate, kid. Dunno where you got all them book smarts from. Definitely not me.”

“From books,” Jeanne says, straight-faced as ever.

Eric snorts. And he realizes, now, why he would talk to these two, of all people, about his existential crisis. Tony, who’s an utter smartass nearly as self-centered as Eric himself, and Jeanne, who’s always very blunt and direct and doesn’t even like him. Because these are the people whose opinions matter. If Tony cares this much about him, then does it matter that he’s a robot or Eric O’Grady or not?

He can feel his mood lifting, the pressure in his head lightening. It’s not even physical pressure, goddamn. Who the hell builds a robot that can get depressed?

“Feel better?” Tony asks, almost cautiously. He and Jeanne are watching him again.

“Yeah, actually. I do. Sorry I kind of ruined the evening…”

“Nah.” Tony waves dismissively at him. “We were done anyway, right, kid?” He directs this question at Jeanne.

Jeanne opens her mouth, then closes it and thinks for a moment, examining Taskmaster’s face. He’s probably trying to give her some silent signal to agree with him. Apparently, it works, and she says, “Yes. It was fun. Let me know what day next month works for you.”

“I’ll text ya,” Tony says, patting her shoulder. Eric’s picked up that she’s not much of a hugger. “Take care, kiddo.”

“Good night,” she says, nodding to both of them before heading off down the sidewalk. Eric thinks about heading home too. He does feel better, but he’s not keen on being alone with his thoughts again. Maybe he should just find another bar to hang out in all night.

“Hey,” says Tony. He slings his arm around Eric’s shoulder. “Wanna come hang out at my place? That way ya don’t have to be all by yourself.”

“Sure,” Eric says before he can think about it too much. Tony squeezes his shoulder. He can feel Tony’s body heat and the pressure of the hug, and it pulls him a little farther up out of his own head.

Somehow, Tony has gone into protective mode. Eric’s seen this before, with Jeanne. And maybe that one time Tony came to rescue him from a mob of angry villains (after dropping him smack dab in the middle of said mob, but still). It feels pretty nice to have it directed at him. Because, really, who ever cared about Eric O’Grady? He knows he’s terrible, and sometimes he wants to be a better person so people will care about him.

But Tony already cares. Tony’s not a good person either, he can be a downright bastard. But he cares, even when he knows Eric is awful, and selfish, and not human, and not really Eric. And for the moment, that’s all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> This was honestly just supposed to be about Taskmaster and Finesse reconnecting. Then Eric got sad and took over the whole fic *shrug*


End file.
